Kiss

by Francine Pascal

  She lifted one shoulder as she took a swig of her soda. "Some guy gave it to me," she said, jabbing a meatball with her fork. Ed's stomach turned over, and not just because she was actually consuming a cafeteria-made meat substance.

  Another guy?

  More guys?

  Didn't he have enough to deal with?

  "Who?" Ed asked, trying to keep the psychotic jealousy out of his voice. It was still there, but if she noticed, she didn't show a sign. She just chomped on another meatball as her eyes scanned the room.

  "Him," she said finally, pointing with her fork across the large cafeteria at Tim Racenello. Abercrombie boy. Skier. Former friend. Definitely charming. Damn.

  "Are you going to go?" Ed asked, pushing his chicken noodle soup sans chicken -- a cafeteria specialty -- around with his spoon. Please say you're not going to go. Please say you're not going to go.

  "Ed. Come on. No," she said.

  Cool.

  "I was kind of thinking about going to see Sam tonight," she said, actually sounding tentative. "You know, find out . . . ifthere's anything to find out."

  Not cool.

  "Well, I'll go if you'll go," Ed offered, putting his spoon down and laying his hands flat on the table. The action helped to keep him from sinking into the bottomless black pit that had opened beneath his chair at the sound of Sam's name. Amazing. It was just one little syllable. Sam. More like a grunt than a name.

  Yet it held so much power.

  "Go where?" Gaia asked, confused. Ed felt his delirious mind step off its rambling path and snap into the now. He wondered if she thought he was offering to go to Sam's with her. Not likely.

  "The party," Ed said, forcing a smirk. "Focus, G."

  Gaia froze with a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway into her mouth. It took her a couple of seconds to decide whether to eat or talk. She did both.

  "You want to go to this thing," she said as soon as she'd swallowed. Statement. Disbelieving statement. When had he lost the moniker of Ed "Shred" Fargo, party animal? As if he really had to ask that question.

  "Tim's pretty cool," Ed told her. He hoped against hope she would go against every fiber of her being and agree to go with him. "We used to hang out before my hanging involved the chair."

  Gaia's gaze flicked in Tim's direction. "He stopped hanging out with you after . . ." She let the sentence trail off, probably because she still didn't know how Ed had ended up without leg power.

  "No," Ed answered the unfinished question. "I stopped hanging out with him. I stopped hanging out with a lot of people." He immediately felt his spirits start to wane. He was coming dangerously close to losing the nonchalant thing he'd gone to great lengths to develop. Clearing his throat, Ed pushed all melancholy thoughts aside. He'd rejoined the social world a long time ago. There was no need to dwell on the dark past. The now demanded his full attention.

  "So are you going to go with me or not?" Ed asked, downing a spoonful of his now cold soup. Somehow it tasted better cold. Took the edge off.

  "I don't know, Ed. . . ."

  She was thinking of Sam. He knew it. He could tell by the regretful little cloud in her eyes. Like she was thinking of him and ashamed of herself for thinking of him. There was only one way to make Gaia agree to party with him. The one way he could get Gaia to do almost anything. Get her angry. Or at least righteously indignant.

  "Sam hasn't called, has he?" Ed asked, feeling like the soap scum wad in the corner of his shower. The one with the black mildew gathering on it.

  Her eyes flashed. Score one for the soap scum. "No," she said flatly.

  "Then why are you planning on going over there?" Ed asked casually, pushing his tray away. It hit Gaia's and moved it an inch over the lip of the table toward her.

  "I'm not," she said, pushing her own tray back. Ed's went two and a half inches off the end. At least. It was almost too easy. And it made him feel almost too guilty. Almost.

  "Then go to the party," Ed said, pushing their trays back so that they were centered evenly on the table. He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair. "Screw him."

  Gaia blinked. Ed could practically see the little consonants and vowels that made up his words sinking into her brain.

  "Fine," she said. "Let's go."

  First ever Monday smile

  HE WAS IN HER ENGLISH CLASS. How convenient. She'd never noticed him before, but there he was. Front row, window seat. Good view and a fast escape route. And he was eating a Hostess cupcake. That was comforting. At least he had good taste in food.

  Gaia made her way across the room, her battered sneak-ers squeaking loudly on the linoleum floor. He didn't see her and she didn't exactly have an opening line, so she dropped the bag she was carrying on his desk with a half flop, half clatter.

  If he was startled, he hid it well. He chewed, swallowed, and looked up. His eyebrows arched when he saw her, but he recovered quickly and leaned back in his chair, smiling up at her. He had chocolate stuck to his two front teeth.

  "If it isn't Gaia the Brave," he said, running his tongue quickly along his bottom teeth to clear the sugary goo. It didn't help the top portion of his mouth, but Gaia wasn't about to point that out.

  "Got another one?" she asked, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It fell right back into place and she didn't touch it again. Pointless. As were all attempts at grooming in Gaia's book.

  Sideburns Tim experienced momentary confusion marked by a quick squint of the eyes. "Another what?"

  "Cupcake," Gaia said, shifting her feet. That was when she noticed that Heather Gannis was sitting two rows behind Sideburns Tim, shooting Gaia a glare that was now so familiar to her, Gaia could probably have mimicked it in her sleep. She looked Heather directly in the eye and spoke to Tim. "If you give me a cupcake, I'll come to your little party."

  Heather visibly paled. Even her normally lined lips were white. It was all Gaia could do to keep from breaking the no smiling on Mondays rule. It was an odd Monday when that almost happened twice.

  Sideburns Tim pulled a single wrapped cupcake out of his bag and tossed it at Gaia. She caught it in one hand without even flinching.

  "I don't know if it's your lucky day or mine," he said with a smirk that displayed a small dimple just behind a very light layer of stubble. Probably sexy in some circles. In Heather's circle, from the look of pure horror on the girl's face.

  "It's yours," Gaia said. His smirk deepened. She pocketed her cupcake, and walked to the back of the room, allowing herself a brief moment of pride. It had been a long time since she'd come out with a comeback line she liked on the spot, and not approximately three and a half hours later when it was useless.

  The fury was coming off Heather in waves. As Gaia took her seat, she wondered if Heather had spoken to Sam this weekend. If she knew what had happened between Gaia and her beloved boyfriend. If she did know, Gaia really wished the girl would clue her in. But somehow Gaia doubted that was going to happen.

  In fact, since she hadn't received any idle death threats, Gaia figured Heather was thus far clueless. Maybe even more clueless than Gaia was. Gaia, at least, knew she'd been in Sam's room. Worn Sam's clothes. Even if there had been no touching of the lips, she was sure Heather would throw a Springer-worthy psycho tantrum if she knew what Gaia knew.

  Leaning back in her chair, Gaia tore open her package of chocolatey goodness and propped her knees up on the desk in front of her. Sure, Sam hadn't called. Yes, she'd just committed herself to an actual social function. Yes, she was living with a heinous shrew with a special place in her heart for slut clothes and bad perfume. Misery abounded.

  But the thought that she actually knew something about Sam that Heather didn't know, was the thing that brought the first ever Monday smile to Gaia Moore's lips.

  Sick of Everything

  HEATHER GANNIS WAS HAVING a very bad day, and trying to keep herself from screaming in the middle of English class wasn't making it any easier. Sam was avoiding her, her best
friends had all gone out the night before without her and couldn't shut up about it, and the only reason she hadn't gone was because she had fully expected Sam to call her, which he, of course, hadn't.

  She traced the pink line down the side of her paper with her pen, pushing so hard she tore a hole in the page. She was getting so sick of everything. Sick of Sam's avoidance ofconflict policy. Sick of her friends who dropped money on cab rides and bars like they were a necessity. Sick, most of all, of Gaia Moore.

  Mr. MacGregor sauntered into the room and immediately started passing out pop quiz papers. Lovely. What kind of person gave a quiz the day after Thanksgiving weekend? It was like the man lived to see students suffer. What next? Was her hair going to start falling out in clumps?

  Heather adjusted the collar on her itchy wool sweater and pushed her thick brown mane back behind her shoulders. Whatever she did, she couldn't let her misery show. She needed to constantly keep the three C's in high gear. Cool, calm, collected. Otherwise there would be questions from her legion of followers. And questions, at this point, were something she couldn't handle.

  Missy Ryan handed the quiz papers back and Heather took one and passed the stack along. Nothing on the page looked remotely familiar. Her body temperature skyrocketed. Heather turned the paper over with a slap and took a long breath. She had to chill. Now.

  She hazarded a glance over her shoulder at Gaia. She, of course, was busily scratching away at her paper, oblivious to the world around her. The girl practically looked happy. That never happened. Something in the cosmic balance of Heather's universe had shifted, and she didn't like it.

  Tim asking Gaia to tonight's party was the last straw. Heather faced forward again and twisted a lock of hair around her finger violently, yanking at her scalp. The only thing that had kept Heather going this weekend was looking forward to tonight's little shindig. She'd talked it up to all her friends, making sure they would all be there. There was nothing better than a free party with free dancing and free alcohol, even when her boyfriend was freakishly AWOL.

  But a party with Gaia Moore present was another story.

  A party with Gaia Moore present was something to avoid at all costs. Unless it was a wake and Gaia was the guest of honor.

  From:smoon@alloymail.com

  To:gaia13@alloymail.com

  Time:2:48 P.M.

  Re:Thanksgiving

  Gaia,

  Thanks for an . . . interesting Thanksgiving. I'll never forget it. I want to see you, but I have finals right now and I really have to concentrate on that. Can I call you when I'm done?

  -- Sam

  <>

  ROMEO

  Normally, I don t go in with a plan. I never know who I'm going to want until I m in the moment. I do have a special place in my heart for brunettes, though. They often think they re ordinary. Plain. Not sexy. They act like they have something to prove. And that always makes things more interesting.

  But I'm not averse to the occasional blonde. Redhead. Asian, African-American, Indian, Latina, etc., etc. I'm not averse to anything. Like I said, it depends how I feel in the moment.

  Tonight, however, I have a plan. Two, actually. One brunette. One blonde. Maybe neither will resist. But hopefully at least one of them will.

  It's the breaking-down process that makes for riveting reading.

  ready and willing

  "Come on, Gaia," Ella said, placing her napkin on the table. She was all glee. "Tell George about your little Sam."

  Ella's Salvation

  EVEN AFTER HEATHER. EVEN after Marco. After David. After her father. After every deranged, psychotic, evil, slimy, grime-covered, bad-cologne-wearing, midnight assailant. Even after dealing with each and every one of these hateful beings, Gaia could quite honestly say she had never felt so much rage before in her life.

  And from the look on Ella Niven's face, the woman was just smart enough to know that this rage was directed at her.

  "You lied to me," Gaia said. There was no surprise in her voice. Only the rage. Ella's face went white for a moment underneath her layers of foundation and powder. She backed away from the foul-smelling sludge she was frying into a black pulp on the stove, and crossed her arms over her chest. Gaia wondered if Ella was remembering when Gaia punched her. Remembering and fearing.

  God, she hoped she was.

  "I don't appreciate your tone, Gaia," Ella said, wiping her hands on her ruffled apron. Gaia was surprised the woman even knew what an apron was. Or a kitchen for that matter.

  "I was with someone on Thanksgiving," Gaia said, trying desperately to ignore the burning, acrid stench that was assailing her nostrils and choking her airways. Her eyes were watering, and she suddenly registered the fact that Ella was actually cooking -- or attempting an unreasonable facsimile thereof. She never cooked. Was this just another facet of the torture she had to endure?

  Ella took a deep breath -- how she managed it Gaia had no idea -- and smoothed her blazing red hair behind her shoulders. "And how, exactly, does that make me a liar?"

  The disturbing image of Gaia grabbing Ella by the back of the head, slamming her face into the frying pan and holding it there flashed through Gaia's mind. Tempting, but not an option. For the moment anyway.

  "You told me there was no one there, at the hospital," Gaia said, leaning into the counter in front of her, her veins throbbing in her forehead. To think there was a time when she'd felt badly for laying Ella out. When she'd regretted punching the woman so hard her knuckles hurt. She only wished she'd done more.

  Ella's amphibian green eyes narrowed into angry slits. "That's right," she said calmly. "There was no one with you at the hospital. God only knows what you did before then. I did tell you they found you outside some dorm babbling about someone named Sam." She ran her fingernail along the side of her mouth, reminding Gaia of a cat who'd just finished off the forbidden goldfish. "Is that who you're talking about?" she said with a light laugh. Maybe he'd just kicked you out ofhis room.

  There was a moment without air. No intake whatsoever. A moment when Gaia's heart felt as if it was about to burst open from the pressure.

  Her first inclination was to launch herself at Ella and make her take it back.

  Her second inclination was to entertain the idea that she might be right.

  That was the standard Gaia-as-masochist inclination.

  But no. It wasn't possible. Sam had said thanks. He'd said he wanted to see her again. She was no relationship expert, but if he'd booted her, he wouldn't be saying that. Right?

  And he wouldn't have left her outside in the cold, bruised and woozy and half comatose.

  Not Sam.

  Gaia rounded the counter and in one long stride, got within centimeters of Ella's pointy little face. She was quite satisfied by the rather large jump on Ella's part.

  "I swear to you Ella, if you don't tell me the truth right now --"

  There was a door slam, and two pairs of eyes darted to the kitchen entry.

  "George," Ella whispered, sounding as if she was uttering the name of salvation.

  "I'm home!" George shouted from the foyer. "What smells so interesting?"

  Gaia felt her muscles untighten and she pulled away reluctantly. The threats were going to have to wait for another day, unless she wanted to explain to George why she'd kicked his wife's scrawny ass as his homecoming present.

  Table of Contents

  Unnamed

  the color of fear Gaia sucked in a few shallow gasps of air, raised a pair of wide, haunted eyes to his, and whispered, "I see dead people. . . ."

  Flesh Crawler "MRS. TRAVESURA?" At first Ella Niven didn't realize the voice was speaking to her. Then she remembered. Travesura was the Spanish word for "mischief." It was the name she'd given when she'd first made the appointment. She looked up from her magazine. The stunning Asian receptionist was smiling down at her. "The doctor will see you now." Ella nodded. Setting down the magazine, she grabbed her purse and the shopping bag resting beside her chair and foll
owed the woman. There were several other women in the posh waiting room. All were reading magazines. All were the indeterminate age of the extremely wealthy somewhere between thirty-five and death. Clearly most of them had consulted the plastic surgeon many times before this. Ella noticed that most of the women also had shopping bags with them. She recognized the familiar logos of Chanel, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bergdorf Goodman, and a couple of other Fifth Avenue boutiques, all glimmering like badges of honor. Ella's own shoppin

  Shortcomings GAIA MOORE MOVED QUICKLY ALONG West Fourth Street in the direction of Washington Square Park, not bothering to slow her pace for her friend, Ed Fargo, who wheeled along a yard or two behind her. As she walked, Gaia switched the strap of her beat-up canvas messenger bag from her left shoulder to the right. It was a smooth, fluid movement -- one she made often over the course of her day. If she was doomed to have the overdeveloped deltoids of a Russian gymnast, at least she'd make sure they were equally overdeveloped. Being a supermuscular freak was bad enough. Being a lopsided one was too much to bear. Gaia was painfully self-conscious about her body. Even now she was aware of her muscular arms and shoulders, although they were safely camouflaged beneath the bulky yellow-green Polartec parka she'd started wearing since the weather turned cold. Long ago she'd given up trying to fight it. No amount of doughnut scarfing could erase the six-pack definition of her abdominals. He

  SAM I used to think you could pretty much divide people into two categories: those who believe in love at first sight and those who don't. I was a proud member of the second category. I used to think you fell in love with your brain. . . . Um, that came out wrong. Let me rephrase. I used to think your brain was in use when you fell in love. You sort of decided it over time, like I did with Heather. I saw her, I thought, man, that girl is beautiful. I talked to her, I thought, yeah, and she's smart and funny, too. I spent some time with her and thought, hey, we actually like a lot of the same stuff. I kissed her and thought, yo, this is fun. After that, as far as my brain and I were concerned, we were in love. Then I met Gaia Moore. Every time I've ever had anything to do with Gaia, my brain has said, shit, this girl is nothing but pain, misery, and trouble. And in this case my brain was totally right. But in spite of my brain's lack of cooperation, I've fallen in love with her. It happ